


Loyal

by courtneythenerd



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-05-04 02:49:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14583303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtneythenerd/pseuds/courtneythenerd
Summary: Okoye stares at T’Challa; his face is open and soft. That softness is dangerous, Okoye thinks. It’s disarming, making it impossible for Okoye to keep holding her cards close to her chest.





	1. Nice

**Author's Note:**

> So....after 4 viewings of "Black Panther," 1 viewing of "Infinity War" (I'mma fight you, Joe and Tony Russo) and a bunch of viewings of interviews with Danai and Chadwick, I have decided to embark on this adventure.
> 
> I hope you guys and gals enjoy it!

“This is, by far, the most boring meeting we’ve ever been to.”

Okoye bites the inside of her cheek, doing her best to not betray herself. She stands up taller, stiffer, hoping to stop the giggle that threatens to escape her mouth. She’d warned her King that this would be boring--she could tell by the leaders who had been invited. But, for some reason, T’Challa had gone into this particular meeting of governments with something akin to hope. 

And now, less than 30 minutes later, T’Challa whispers his complaints into their communication devices. Okoye stands behind him; her and several other dignitaries’ security line the walls of the boardroom they’ve all gathered in. Every once in a while, she sneaks glances at the (mostly white) men that stand next to her. They’re trying--and failing--to conceal their unease with her presence: most are not used to women in these positions, she remembers. And they’re certainly not used to Wakandan warriors with spears taller than most men. They probably fear her, although they’d never admit it. 

Okoye also notices that they are trying--and failing--to conceal their own boredom. They must want to look diplomatic. That’s important--it is how the outside world works. False airs get most leaders further than any strategy or intellect.

That doesn’t work for Wakandans. It especially isn’t working for T’Challa. 

“Okoye,” he says her name lowly, his soft voice coming out a little roughly. But it sends Okoye on high alert all the same. “I’m beginning to believe this is a trap.”

“A trap?” Okoye asks, keeping her voice as even as possible. “How so?”

“They’re trying to use this meeting to bore me to death. And then, when I am dead, they will take our resources.”

Okoye can’t help it; she snickers, begging herself to at least keep quiet. Over the communication device, T’Challa’s laugh comes in just as softly.

“I need you to  _ focus _ ,” Okoye says. “You’re not being very mature about this.”  

Okoye focuses her sight on T’Challa’s back. The hard lines that were there at the beginning of the meeting have softened. T’Challa looks nearly relaxed.

“Eh, mature,” T’Challa responds. “Most of the men in this room throw tantrums to get their way.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Okoye responds, smirking at T’Challa’s back. “That is not very nice. Aren’t you  _ always  _ telling me to be nice?” 

Even though she can’t see it, Okoye can hear T’Challa’s smile.

“Nice for what?” he says. Then he chuckles. “You’re nice enough for me. Don’t worry about them.” 

Okoye remembers the last time T’Challa reminded her to “play nice.” Some British man, a member of Parliament, was gawking at the idea of Nakia’s California outreach being able to sponsor dozens of political organizing camps for African-Americans. Okoye remembers cutting her eyes at this condescending man when T’Challa gently touched her arm.

“If you would excuse us, my General and I have an update from home we must discuss,” he’d said urgently.

The man had taken the hint and scurried off. And when T’Challa turned around to face her, he’d given her that grin, the one that tells Okoye that he’s up to no good.

“Don’t you dare,” Okoye had warned. 

But of course, he’d said it. He barely got the words out through his laugh.

“You know they are much slower than you,” T’Challa had said. 

Okoye feels heat rise in her face; the feeling brings her back to the present. She watches T’Challa sit as still possible, trying to keep himself from squirming around. 

Okoye smiles. She has another quip for him. But, before she can say it, a voice startles her. 

“So, when did  _ you two  _ start flirting over the comm devices, eh?” 

“ _ Shuri, _ ” T’Challa hisses Shuri’s name as if it were a curse. 

Okoye can feel her face flushing, and she grips her spear as tightly as possible. She feels hot all over and only Bast is keeping her from dying of embarrassment right now. 

“I can assure you, Princess,  _ flirting  _ is the last thing I would do with your brother,” Okoye says tightly. 

The hard lines in T’Challa’s back have returned. 

Shuri snorts.

“Yeah, whatever you say, Okoye,” she says. 

“Shuri,  _ why  _ are you even on the comm right now?” T’Challa asks, sounding much more frazzled than Okoye’s used to. 

“You told me that I was on back up! I figured I should be listening in as well,” Shuri says innocently. Then, in an instant, her voice turns devious. “It’s not my fault I caught you two being  _ nice _ to each other.”

“Oh, for Bast’s sake,” T’Challa mutters. “Shuri, can you please just go?” 

Okoye, too mortified to even move, takes a deep breath. Even through her embarrassment, she still finds T’Challa’s miniature freak out funny.

Shuri laughs. “See you both soon!” And in that instant, Shuri’s gone again. 

Okoye starts to relax again, but she can’t: there is a  _ feeling  _ in her stomach. Something she can’t quite place settling inside of her. She resists the urge to place her hand there. Okoye, remembering who and where she is, keeps herself still. She’ll get Shuri back somehow. She has plenty of time to figure out it. 

Okoye takes another breath and goes to look at T’Challa again. This time, she does not see his back. She sees him, looking over his shoulder, offering her a sheepish smile.


	2. Friends

To their credit, they make halfway to Wakanda before things start getting a little . . . difficult. 

They’d mostly managed to make small talk, recap that dreadful meeting and discuss the usefulness of such draining world meetings before T’Challa steps into a territory that Okoye rather he’d not. It’s probably more than a little strategic on his part: he waits until Okoye’s put the Royal Talon Flyer in autopilot and is comfortably sitting. 

“Okoye,” he says slowly, softly. 

It’s the tone of voice that concerns Okoye. She looks over at him skeptically as he slides closer to her. 

“Yes, my King?”

“How are you feeling lately?”

Okoye narrows her eyes at him. 

“My back feels stiff. Why do you ask?”

T’Challa chuckles softly, and then falls silent for a moment, casting his eyes to the floor of the aircraft. When he looks back up at her, Okoye sees concern in his eyes.

“I mean . . . how are you doing now . . . now that everything with W’Kabi has been settled?”

Okoye feels her stomach drop. W’Kabi. Of course T’Challa wants to ask her about W’Kabi. 

For all the battles Okoye’s fault, all the training she’s been through, and all the injuries she’s had in the course of her life, Okoye cannot think of anything that hurt worse than divorcing W’Kabi. They’d been married for 6  _ years _ . They were planning on having children. 

And now, a little over a year later, they were done and W’Kabi was gone from Wakanda. Okoye doesn’t even know where in the world he is. 

Okoye had managed to stand upright in it all, but the strength she’d been using was built on a series of lies she’d told herself. This doesn’t hurt: a lie. I understand why this has happened: a lie. I am not afraid for what comes next: a lie. If Okoye had been honest throughout all of this, she would’ve crumbled. 

Okoye could not think of anything that hurt worse. And, as she looks at T’Challa,  she could only think of one other thing that hurt nearly as badly: watching her King being thrown over a waterfall. 

She should tell T’Challa this, and she probably would at any other moment. But . . . oh, there’s that feeling again. Pooling at the bottom of her stomach. And the warmth across her cheeks . . . her face starts to burn as T’Challa’s eyes sweep over her face. 

“I’m . . .” Okoye starts, and, uncharacteristically, she is unsure of what words are going to come out of her mouth next.

“I’m . . . no worse than I’d thought I’d be,” Okoye answers, trying to keep her gaze steady. “I knew it was coming. So I tried to prepare myself.” It’s as honest as Okoye can get. 

But T’Challa gives her a skeptical look all the same. 

“Okoye, I feel as though there’s something you’re not telling me, and it’s weighing on you,” he says. 

Okoye sighs. Her King is very intuitive indeed. 

Okoye gives T’Challa a sad smile. “I don’t think those are matters you should be concerning yourself with.” 

T’Challa frowns at her and tilts his head in confusion.

“Are we not  _ friends _ , Okoye? Shouldn’t I know if you’re hurting?”

“Hurting,” Okoye laughs bitterly. Her voice trails off, and she finds herself unable to meet his eyes. She feels T’Challa move closer still. 

“Yes, hurting,” he emphasizes. “I know I cannot make it go away, but . . . I would at least like do what I can to help you.” 

Slowly, almost hesitant, T’Challa reaches over and takes Okoye’s hand. Okoye looks up at him, and he gives her a small smile. Then he furrows his brow.

“Besides, I feel mostly responsible,” T’Challa says, “considering I’m the one that introduced you two all those years ago.”

Okoye chuckles, releasing a breath that she didn’t even know she’d been holding. She rolls her eyes at the memory: the three of them, teeangers still, pretending to be grown enough to run countries and fall in love. 

“Oh, goodness, he was so  _ awkward _ ,” Okoye says with a laugh. “And you weren’t much better, T’Challa.”

“Hey, I don’t ever remember being awkward,” T’Challa responds. “You must be mistaken.”

“Yes, you were! You were  _ very  _ awkward, actually. Just because you don’t  _ remember  _ it doesn’t make it so!”

T’Challa cuts his eyes at her, but then laughs all the same. 

“Sure, sure, I’ll let you have this one,” he says. T’Challa’s smile fades and looks at Okoye with a serious look in his eyes. “But, honestly, Okoye. I want to be here for you. Will you allow me that?”

Okoye stares at T’Challa; his face is open and soft. That softness is dangerous, Okoye thinks. It’s disarming, making it impossible for Okoye to keep holding her cards close to her chest. 

She feels her shoulders slump, and the tension in her body begins to dissolve. 

“I just . . . I never saw myself this way,” Okoye says quietly. “I never saw  _ Wakanda  _ this way. It’s more than I can comprehend sometimes. Everything . . .” She stops; she feels a lump in her throat. 

T’Challa nods and squeezes her hand, urging Okoye on.

“Everything changed so quickly,” Okoye’s voice shakes. “And here I am, trying to maintain some sense of normalcy. Trying to be the same Okoye that’s been able to withstand it all.” 

“There is nothing ‘normal’ about this, or you,” T’Challa says with a grin. 

“Thank you, my King,” Okoye deadpans. “You are most reassuring.”

“Oh, come on,” T’Challa says. “I cannot think of a single person like you in this world. And as far as ‘withstanding it all’ goes . . . you have to understand that you’re not required to be impossibly strong. If you need to fall apart every now and then, you should feel free to do so. And you can always call me to help you pull yourself together again.” 

“You say that,” Okoye mutters.

T’Challa levels her with a stern look.

“And I  _ mean  _ it.”

Okoye smiles at him. Yes, he does mean it. There’s not a trace of dishonesty in his face.

“Thank you, T’Challa.” 

T’Challa gives Okoye a warm smile. But then, he frowns slightly.

“Oh, um, Okoye . . . about Shuri’s little ‘joke’ earlier . . .”

And just like that, Okoye feels that life-threatening embarrassment again. T’Challa never could leave well enough alone.

“If I . . . I mean, if I came off inappropriately--”

“My King,” Okoye interrupts. She desperately wants to stop this before it can get any more stressful. “I assure you that you didn’t. Your sister just likes to get under both of our skins.” 

T’Challa sighs with relief. 

“Okay, good,” he says. 

He gives her another smile, but this one is uneasy. And just as slowly as he’d taken it, T’Challa lets go of Okoye’s hand.

Somehow, someway, Okoye is going to get Shuri back for this.


	3. Different

The music is Shuri’s lab is _deafening_.

T’Challa’s never understood why she keeps it so loud. Worse yet, she always teases me about his requests for it to be lower. She keeps telling him that just because he’s taken their Ba Ba’s place on the throne doesn’t mean he suddenly has to _act_ like their Ba Ba.

T’Challa, flanked by several Dora, walks down the hall leading to Shuri’s lab. Even fully prepared, the music still makes him flinch a little. Lately, Shuri has been enjoying bothering him more than usual.

T’Challa has half a mind to tell Shuri that’s no longer allowed to be backup for their outings. But he knows that would be foolish: Shuri is the smartest person in this world and would do anything for all of them. She just has to torture them along the way.

Shuri certainly is something special. Anyone that can make Okoye twitch with humiliation has real talent.

Okoye. T’Challa softens at the thought of his General. He hadn’t had the chance to talk to her in a couple of days, and, honestly, he feels more than a little out of sorts. It’s so easy to be with Okoye every day. To be without Okoye feels wrong somehow.

T’Challa thinks back to when he and Okoye were returning to Wakanda. He fumbled very badly then. T’Challa thinks everything was fine until he mentioned what Shuri said. Okoye had been opening up for the first time in a while; he could see her finally shedding some of that invisible armor she wears. But T’Challa just _had_ to go ruining it. He blames himself as much as he blames Shuri’s desire to toy with them.

Speaking of Shuri--T’Challa can see his little sister walking around her lab, instructing her assistants. T’Challa salutes the Dora that escorted him and steps instead, glaring at Shuri’s back.

Right at that moment, Shuri spins around with a huge smile on her face.

“Brother!” She calls cheerily. “You got my message!”

“What do you want, Shuri?”

Shuri places her hand over her chest and opens her mouth in mock offense.

“Well, that’s rather _rude_ of you,” Shuri says. “Can’t I just invite my beloved big brother to my lab for the day?”

“No, you can’t,” T’Challa retorts. “You only ever bring me down here so that you can experiment on our devices.”

“Experimentation leads to great discovery,” Shuri says. “You must never forget that, Brother. Now, hand over your kimoyo beads. I’ve discovered a way to increase their communication range.”

T’Challa hands over his beads resignedly. “Just don’t break them.”

“Oh, please, T’Challa. When I have _ever_ broken anything?”

“How about ages 3 through 10?”

“That’s in the past! It’s not good to carry such things around with you.”

T’Challa refuses to give Shuri the satisfaction of laughing. He opts for glaring at her instead.

Shuri raises an eyebrow at him. “You seem grumpy today.”

“I think I’m still mad at you for the other day,” T’Challa confesses.

Shuri frowns, genuinely confused for a moment. Then her face lights up with realization.

“ _Oh_ , you mean because of my joke?” Shuri asks teasingly. “Oh, come on, Brother. Surely you’re not holding a grudge about that. That’s not even like you.”

And Shuri’s right about that--the version of T’Challa that holds grudges has been gone for more than a year. But this isn’t so much about him.

“Your comment made Okoye uncomfortable,” T’Challa says, “And I ended up making things worse by trying to address it. I don’t appreciate that. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable around me, especially not after all she’s been through.”

Shuri turns back to face T’Challa, laying the kimoyo beads and the tools she was tinkering with to the side.

“I’m sorry,” Shuri says solemnly. “I didn’t mean to make either of you feel badly.”

T’Challa looks at Shuri and knows she’s being true.

“Thank you.”

Shuri nods at him. But, then she gives him a _look_.

“ _But . . .”_

“Of course there’s a ‘but,’” T’Challa grumbles.

“ _But_ , you have to admit that there’s something different between you two,” Shuri continues. “And it has been for a while.”

“Different--different how?”

Shuri sighs and looks at T’Challa if he were a dimwitt.

“Different like closer? More intimate, perhaps? Less like Panther and Dora or King and General? You’ve got some feelings going on there, big brother.” Shuri says all of this as if it should be very obvious to T’Challa.

And, Shuri’s  . . . well, Shuri’s right. This _should_ be obvious to T’Challa.

If T’Challa were to be honest, he’d recognize that his feelings towards Okoye have shifted significantly over the past few months. Wanting to see her so often, _needing_ to be around her, wanting to shoulder her pain and uplift her happiness. These aren’t new feelings, per se, but they have deepened in a way that T’Challa did not expect or is comfortable with.

T’Challa is Okoye’s King and he is her friend: that balance alone has been more difficult than usual. T’Challa can’t help but fear that any other feelings towards her will only further complicate that balance. Besides, it feels like a massive overstep of boundaries: he doesn’t want Okoye feeling anymore _obligated_ to him than she already is.

T’Challa thinks this over while Shuri works on his kimoyo beads. The silence that falls between is almost comforting. So, of course Shuri has to break it.

“I mean,” Shuri says casually, her eyes focused on the beads, “it’s especially been different since you and Nakia decided to call things off for good.”

T’Challa’s face drops and he feels the air in his body dissipate.

“ _Why_ do you know that?” T’Challa asks with a groan.

Shuri looks up at him and just shrugs. “Nakia told me. She’s my friend, too, you know. Plus, we are partners in organizing, remember?”

T’Challa closes his eyes and rubs his temples.

“When I made you director of science and technology for the outreach centers, I did not expect you and Nakia to spend your time _gossiping_ about _me_.”

“Yeah, I know you didn’t,” Shuri responds, patting T’Challa on the arm. T’Challa opens his eyes and stares at his kimoyo beads on Shuri’s table contemplatively.

He supposes that it should’ve been disheartening or painful or even awkward when he and Nakia decided to permanently end things. But it wasn’t. It felt right, actually. Nakia is still one of his closest friends, and he hers. They’re both on their intertwined, yet separate paths. It works.

“For what it’s worth, I think you both made the right decision. Her calling is the most important thing to her, and you respect that. At least you’re not pining after you like you did the first time.”

T’Challa gives his sister a small smile.

“I hate to admit it, but you are right,” he says.

“I know I am,” she says brightly. “Just like I’m right about you and Okoye!”

“You are a monster,” T’Challa growls.

“And you love me all the same, Brother. But, in all seriousness, you can’t be content to just pretending like there’s _nothing_ going on there. You’ve gotta make a decision sooner or later.”

“You know what? I am making a decision to end this conversation. I would like for you to return my kimoyo beads, please.”

Shuri makes a face at T’Challa, but hands him his beads back anyway.

“How _mature_ of you. I’m sure Okoye will be proud.”

“I cannot wait for the day that you are bored of harassing me,” T’Challa says flatly.

Shuri grins broadly at her big brother.

“You’ll be waiting forever, T’Challa.”


	4. Dreams

_ “Okoye.” _

_ He’s teasing her. Moaning her name against her inner thigh, knowing that the action sends a vibration straight to her clit. The sensation combined with the wetness between her legs makes Okoye squirm.  _

_ Okoye is thinking she might squirm right out of his bed when T’Challa puts one arm across her lower torso. Before she has time to wonder where his other arm is, she feels him slowly, gently push two slick fingers inside of her, moving them in a “come hither” motion.  _

_ Okoye gasps, and her hips buck. T’Challa laughs, and his beard tickles her inner thigh. _

_ “Oh, you like that?”  _

_ “I’m going to hurt you,” she tries to sound threatening, but she’s breathless and wanting.  _

_ T’Challa laughs again and, in the next moment, his mouth is on her. He alternates between gently licking and softly sucking her clit while moving his fingers in and out, in and out, come hither, come hither.  _

_ T’Challa presses down on her lower torso: Okoye’s hips are bucking again.  _

_ But, dear Bast, she can’t help it. She wants him  _ **_inside_ ** _ of her. _

_ “T’Challa . . . T’Challa, please . . .” _

_ ** _

Okoye gasps awake, bolting upright, confused and disoriented. She feels like someone tried to take the breath out of her lungs. After a few moments, reality returns to her. 

Oh, no. 

Shame courses through Okoye as she lies back down. She throws an arm over her eyes, praying that the remnants of her dream vanish.

“Dear Bast,” Okoye prays, “I don’t know _ what’s  _ gotten into me, but please remove it.” 

Quickly remove it, Bast. Because this is the fourth such dream Okoye has had about T’Challa in three weeks.

The first time this happened, Okoye blamed it on the fact that she hadn’t had sex since Killmonger took over and effectively ruined her relationship with W’Kabi. Marrying W’Kabi was supposed to guarantee that Okoye never be wanting for love or sex ever again. 

But with him gone, Okoye tried to focus on her duties as General and helping rebuild Wakanda and establish Wakanda’s place in the outside world. She pushed all thoughts of sex as far out of her brain as they could go. T’Challa is the man she spends most of her time with, so naturally she’d dream have that one weird dream, right?

Well, then Okoye had a second one. And again, Okoye just blamed it on lack of sex. And also . . . T’Challa’s a handsome man. And a kind one. Okoye can acknowledge that. So, it was not  _ that  _ strange.

But a third time? And a fourth time? 

Bast. Okoye’s more embarrassed than anything. She feels foolish, like a teenager again. Okoye feels undisciplined and uncouth; it’s like she’s disrespecting the vows she took when she became General, the ones that dictate that she is, above all else, a Dora. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be happening if she could actually be what she’s  _ supposed to  _ be. Okoye feels like she was excellent at it not too long ago. But lately, the boundaries she’d established in her relationship with T’Challa have started to blur. 

Okoye finds them talking less and less about the state of Wakanda and more about the fact that Okoye still doesn’t like high heels, or about how Okoye’s finally mastering the art of smiling when she really wants to impale someone. 

Yesterday, Okoye and T’Challa were sitting in a marketplace discussing why Okoye won’t let Shuri “update” her spear again when Okoye caught a couple of women  _ whispering  _ about them. She could see them from over T’Challa’s shoulder. 

When Okoye caught their eyes, one woman tried (and failed) to go stone face, while the other started to giggle. Okoye then wrapped up the conversation as quickly as possible, leaving T’Challa more than a little confused. Okoye doesn’t like the idea of there being rumors about them; she hates the feeling of people looking at her and murmuring under their breath. She wants to nip it in the bud as much as she can. 

But Okoye’s not going to be able to do that if she can’t even control her own dreams. 

Okoye doesn’t have the capacity to think about this right now. She doesn’t have time for any of this, and she doesn’t want to make time. 

Okoye throws on her training clothes, grabs her spear and her kimoyo beads, and dashes out of her home before she can think for too much longer.

She needs to clear her head. Yeah, that’s it. She just needs to go clear her head. 

 

_Okoye is soft._

_The curve of her stomach. The place where her thighs meet. Her ass, breasts. Lips. Every part of Okoye is soft and warm underneath T’Challa’s hands._

_He could melt into her. T’Challa brings her closer and closer, and he only wants to_ **_sink_ ** _into Okoye. Her breasts press against his chest, and she runs her fingers through his hair. Golden sunlight beams down; it caresses Okoye’s neck, her shoulders, the side of her face._

_T’Challa kisses each spot, chasing the light with his lips. He trails his kisses down her chest, gently taking one of her nipples between his lips. Okoye gasps, but then laughs deeply, running her hands up and down his back and arms._

_T’Challa closes his eyes and breathes deeply. They could just stay here. Okoye and T’Challa, tangled up together. They could stay here, and T’Challa could shield Okoye from this crumbling world. They’ll never have to fear losing each other, or the world they worked so hard to build. It could be the most glorious thing T’Challa’s ever known._

_But, in an instant, Okoye’s gone from his arms. T’Challa sits up, looking up wildly. Finally, he sees her, suddenly fully dressed, standing at the foot of their bed with a sad smile on her face._

_T’Challa_

_“We have our duties, My King,” she says. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”_

**

T’Challa wakes up slowly. He regrets this waking, because he can already feel that this day will be stressful.

T’Challa often thinks about what his Ba Ba told him the day T’Challa became King, when he visited the ancestral plane for the first time. “It’s hard for a good man to be a king.”

It almost makes T’Challa laugh now. “Hard” was an incredible understatement. “Hard” doesn’t begin to describe T’Challa’s reign thus far, and Ba Ba, along with all the other ancestors T’Challa shouted at, must know that.

In about a year, T’Challa has died, killed a man, lost most of the Border Tribe, lost his best friend, lost his father and the man he considered an uncle in more ways than one, reunited with Nakia, broke up with Nakia again, and has met nearly every passively racist world leader there is for him to meet.

And now, he has apparently decided to start having sexual dreams about Okoye.

Damn it.

T’Challa thinks he’s been naive about this: he’s been treating his feelings as if it’d disappear on its own. But every day he spends with Okoye sees them growing only more intense.

T’Challa’s starting to completely forget who he is supposed to be for Okoye.

Perhaps he should put a little distance in between them? Maybe he should be trying to refocus their relationship. It’d certainly make things less complicated.

Wait . . . T’Challa hears his own thoughts and groans.

He’s thinking so much about himself and _only_ himself. Distance? How would that make Okoye feel? T’Challa can’t encourage their friendship at one point and then suddenly turn around and make their relationship strictly about Wakanda at the next. That’s unfair to her. Just because T’Challa can’t get himself together doesn’t mean Okoye needs to experience whiplash. How could he even think of treating her that way?

The pale morning light shines through T’Challa’s window. He turns towards the light, imagining that he can feel its warmth. He recalls the image of golden light on Okoye’s neck, and her sad smile.

Okoye wouldn’t even _want_ T’Challa the way he wants her. Why would she, with all that he comes with?

T’Challa already knows there’s no way he’ll go back to sleep. He might as well rise early. It is, after all, part of the  King’s duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this the first time I've written anything slightly resembling a sex scene. I did not enjoy the experience lol.


	5. Rings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short. Sorry.

Nakia once told Okoye that she trains too much.

At the time, Okoye had teasingly said that perhaps Nakia was just being a little lazy. Besides, Dora had to constantly train. They do not improvise like war dogs. Every step is ordered, synchronised, designed with the entire purpose to protect the throne and the sovereign ruler of Wakanda. Okoye could not afford to be lax or soft. She _ had  _ to train. 

But sitting here now, in a field on a hill that Okoye nearly had to crawl up, she finds herself agreeing with Nakia. 

Okoye’s entire body aches. Her spear feels heavy in a way she’s not used to. Even her clothes feel too tight. At the rate she’s going, she might actually run herself into the ground one day. Okoye lets the spear hit the ground and puts her elbows on her knees, feeling all of the pain radiating through her body. 

Okoye knows better than to push her body so far--it does more harm than good--but Okoye’s also always done this. She’s always trained to push herself further and further until there was nowhere left to go. 

W’Kabi was always impressed by that. She’d come home exhausted, with bruises from sparring sessions, and he’d rub the spots with a dazed look in his eyes. He’d always murmur that she was so  _ tough  _ and  _ strong  _ and how he couldn’t believe the greatest warrior in Wakanda was his wife. 

It was nice to hear. Or, it should’ve been nice to hear. 

W’Kabi always praised her strength, her ability to handle almost anything. Meanwhile, T’Challa’s explicitly told her to not be so strong, to fall apart because he’d be there to pull her back together. 

What a strange thing for the Black Panther to say. But it sounds so nice. In that moment, T’Challa didn’t see her as a warrior, or a general or even a Dora. He just saw her as a woman. 

Okoye snorts and hangs her head between her knees. It’s funny-- this would be so much  _ easier  _ if T’Challa were any other man in this world. 

What’s funnier still is that, in a way, he  _ is  _ just a man. He is just T’Challa, who Okoye used to boss around when they were children and she was still taller than him. Even then, he was quiet and reserved and wore his heart too plainly on his sleeve. 

Okoye lefts her head slowly, feeling every muscle twitch at the movement. She goes to rub her neck and finds her hand braced against her neck rings instead. Sometimes, she forgets she’s wearing them. She doesn’t notice the weight of them anymore. They are just a part of her now, it seems. 

Ah, that’s right. It’s not just T’Challa. No matter how he treats her or how he makes her feel, Okoye isn’t just a woman. 

What would this even  _ mean  _ for Okoye? If she were to go against her better judgement--and her fear and anxiety and self-consciousness--and just tell T’Challa how she really feels about him, what would that mean for her? Will she have been some kind of wife-in-waiting this whole time? Would Okoye thoroughly  _ belong _ to him now? 

Okoye doesn’t want that. She doesn’t  _ think  _ she wants that? Okoye has belonged to Wakanda, and she has belonged to the Throne, and she has belonged, in a sense, to her husband. 

But Wakanda was torn in half, the Throne was corrupted, and her husband betrayed her. And when the dust had settled and the dead had been counted, Okoye couldn’t help but wonder what it is that she gave herself over to. And who is she now, in the context of a new world, a new Wakanda, and a throne that’s been marred by secrets and lies, one that must change to thrive?

Okoye wants to-- _ needs  _ to--learn herself again. But right now? Right now she’s just tired.

Okoye’s rings rattle against her neck as she breathes deeply. Frustrated, Okoye reaches up, and undoes all of the rings and removes them from her neck, gently laying them on the ground next to her spear. 

Okoye lies flat on her back, staring up at the brilliantly blue sky above her. Then she closes her eyes. 


	6. Hiding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awkwardness ensues.

T’Challa’s been finding hiding spots in the country since he was a small child. 

In the beginning, it was just because he liked to explore. He and Nakia would run through the tunnels underneath Birnin Zana for hours and make up tales about they’d do if they ever got the courage to venture into the Woods of Solitude. 

Okoye would come too, when Nakia and T’Challa could convince her. She’d fuss, and roll her eyes, and tell them they were going to  _ die,  _ but she would almost always come with them. He always liked having Okoye around. She was smart, funny, and was tougher than all of them. So, no matter what happened or how far they went or how lost they got, T’Challa always felt that they’d be okay. 

When T’Challa got older and his studies became more and more pertinent, he could no longer freely explore. His travels became scheduled visits to Birnin Djata and Birnin Bashenga. He and T’Chaka would do walk throughs of Birnin Zana, learning what is important to the capital as well as the capital’s potential weak spots, places that would need more fortitude than others. By that point, T’Challa had managed to learn that “fun” was never to be a priority and probably should’ve never been one in the first place. 

But he still managed to find hiding places.

T’Challa’s sneaking up to one now: a high, grassy hill, midway up a mountain. From there, he can sit and look over the Mena Ngai. Sitting there alone, letting the cooler air touch his cheek, is the closet T’Challa can get to “peace.” T’Challa can feel stress already starting to roll off of him as he walks.

He’s completely caught off-guard by the sight of Okoye, stretched out in the grass. 

T’Challa freezes, staring at Okoye’s sleeping form. In that moment, he remembers that Okoye makes fun of him for freezing and rolls his eyes at himself. Focus, T’Challa, you need to focus. Someone you love is lying on the ground in front of you.

T’Challa slowly creeps forward, approaching Okoye cautiously. She’s not injured, from what he can tell. She’s wearing training gear. And she looks . . . peaceful. The most peaceful T’Challa’s ever seen, actually. Okoye’s face is relaxed and her body has gone limp. T’Challa watches her and wonders when was the last time she’s actually been well-rested. Seeing her this way, T’Challa doesn’t want to wake her up. Bast knows she deserves her rest. 

But, probably because she sensed him near, Okoye’s eyes fly open anyway.

Before T’Challa can get her attention, Okoye jumps up and grabs her spear.

“Yima!” T’Challa cries, putting both his hands up.

Okoye blinks furiously for a moment. She gives T’Challa a hard look and then lets out a shaky breath. 

“My King,” Okoye says, “you must be trying to kill me.” 

T’Challa gives her a small smile. 

“I am sorry,” he says softly, talking over to where she’s still crouched on the ground, “I did not mean to scare you.” 

Okoye sits back down, laying her spear at her feet. T’Challa sits next to her, careful to leave some physical distance between. 

“You found one of my hiding places,” T’Challa says. 

“Hiding place, huh? Ah, so  _ this  _ is where you go when you don’t want me to find you?” Okoye asks with a shaky chuckle.

Okoye seems . . . off, somehow. T’Challa can’t quite put his finger on it. He can feel anxiety radiating from her body, and she seems tense all over. T’Challa looks at her and instantly sees something unusual.

“You are not wearing your rings,” T’Challa notes.

Okoye looks over at him with wide eyes, a combination of guilt and surprise on her face. Then the expression settles into the stern one that most people would be more familiar with. 

“I don’t wear them all the time, my King,” Okoye says with a shrug. “You’ve seen me without them before.”

“But you wear them often enough,” T’Challa retorts, frowning at her. “What made you take them off now?”

Okoye faces away from T’Challa again, gazing over the Mena Ngai. 

“I did a bit too much training,” Okoye answers. “They got a little uncomfortable.”

T’Challa’s brows furrow as he watches Okoye. 

“Your training must have been pretty bad if  _ you’re  _ willing to admit that it was too much,” T’Challa comments.

Okoye rolls her eyes and waves her hand at him.

“Ah, you’re just lazy,” Okoye says, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Okoye sounds exasperated, but she also smiles. She starts shaking, and she knows that it’s not from exhaustion.

Slowly, T’Challa puts his head just above Okoye’s knee.

“General?” his voice is warm and worried. It makes Okoye feel weak. 

And, before she can stop herself, Okoye speaks again.

“Wam kumkani, you want so  _ desperately _ to take care of me.” 

Okoye’s stomach drops; she was  _ not _ intending for those words to leave her mouth. She dares a look at T’Challa’s face.

She can see T’Challa trying to calculating his response. His face flits between confusion and concern and surprise and . . . something that Okoye can’t quite place. She realizes that he’s trying to take his time.

And T’Challa  _ is _ trying to take his time. He can’t say the first thing that comes to his mind.

_ Yes, I do, sithanda sam _ .  _ My Okoye.  _

T’Challa gives her a very focused look. “It is my job to take care of you, General. It’s my job to take care of everyone.”

Okoye nods, willing herself to be neither surprised or disappointed by her King’s answer. It’s what he should say, what she should be glad to hear him say. A reminder of his duties.

But then T’Challa’s face soften again. His eyes get a faraway look. 

“Although, I don’t feel as if I’ve done a very good job of that so far,” he murmurs softly. 

Okoye furrows her brow and frowns. She tilts her head at him, a confused look her on face.

“What are you talking about?”

T’Challa’s eyes are unfocused now--he can  _ feel _ himself slipping away. Disassociating. He does it so often and he hates it, but T’Challa’s still not mastered how to control it.  He wants to be present for Okoye, but now all he can see is the image of a would-be king ripping a blade from his chest, falling to the ground as the sun begins to set. 

“I do not think most kings have a civil war on their hands a few days into their reign,” T’Challa says quietly. “Or lose almost all of one of their tribes.” 

“ _ Most kings  _ do not become king under the circumstances that you did,” Okoye responds sharply. “You are just being hard on yourself. Like you usually are. Stop dwelling so much on things you cannot change.”

T’Challa smiles at Okoye sadly. Then he turns his gaze back over to the Mena Ngai. He and Okoye sit silently for a moment, traveling through their thoughts. 

“You know,” T’Challa says eventually, “I’ve actually  _ never  _ seen you without your rings.”

“Never?” Okoye questions. She rubs her neck absentmindedly. “Are you sure?”

“I am certain.”

“Huh. I could’ve sworn . . .”

T’Challa shakes his head at her. His eyes flicker to her neck before moving quickly back to Okoye’s face. 

“It’s a little odd to see you without them, actually,” T’Challa confesses. “To be honest, I think I’ve only ever seen you wearing either your uniform or a black dress.”

Okoye snorts and rolls her eyes. “I imagine so. I’ve gotten so used to wearing those clothes that it felt odd putting this on.”

T’Challa falls silent again, casting his eyes to the ground beneath Okoye’s feet. There’s a question on his lips, one that he should probably keep in his mouth. But Okoye is looking at him with a worried expression.

“I’m losing you again, my king,” Okoye says softly. “What is it?”

It’s that T’Challa doesn’t like hearing her say she’s “used” to anything, as if her life has just become a job. The tone of her voice bothers T’Challa in a way he cannot put his finger on. It sounds  _ off  _ in the same way that Okoye being too nervous to speak freely is  _ off _ . 

They’re hiding from each other, T’Challa realizes. Okoye is hiding something from him just as he’s hiding something from her. 

So, he lets the question on his lips come out slowly. 

“If you . . . if you had to, could you imagine yourself no longer being a Dora?” 

Okoye whips her head around as if T’Challa just swore at her. 

_ “Why _ are you asking me that?” 

T’Challa’s face moves minutely: Okoye almost thought she was imagining the way his right eye twitches. He’s trying to hide the uncertainty in his face, but Okoye can see it all the same.

“Is this a question of loyalty, T’Challa?” Okoye demands, an edge in her voice. 

There’s sadness in T’Challa’s eyes now, and Okoye can see that, as well. She’s ready to snap at him, to tell him to stop punishing himself when he speaks again.

“It’s a question of your happiness,” T’Challa says gently.

Okoye stares at him, her lips falling open to form a small “o” of surprise. T’Challa feels himself toeing a line; he realizes that any idea of re-establishing a strict boundary between them is out of the window at this point. At least, it is for him. 

Okoye blinks slowly. When she was a child, she used to have a friend who genuinely believed that the Panther had the ability to read the minds and hearts of Wakandans. In this moment, she remembers that childish belief and wonders if it was really that childish. 

“No,” Okoye says finally. “I can’t. And . . . it’s not for lack of trying.” 

Okoye feels like she’s confessing some cardinal sin. But T’Challa just nods at her. 

“I’ve been trying,” Okoye continues, “particularly this morning, I have. Lately . . . I just want to know who I am  _ without  _ my vows. But _ I can’t _ , T’Challa.”

Okoye’s voice starts to shake again; her stomach is in  _ knots _ . 

She continues, “I’m starting to believe that there is no part of me that is not _this._ And that should be fine. Because _this_ is what I swore myself to.”

“But you should be more than ‘fine,’ Okoye. You should be  _ happy _ ,” T’Challa says urgently. “I  _ want  _ you to be happy.”

The intensity in T’Challa’s voice makes Okoye shiver, and she forgets whatever sarcastic remark she was about to make. She feels that same heat that she’s felt before, the one that starts deep within her stomach and spreads faster and further than she can contain. 

At least Okoye now knows exactly what it is. 

“What’s gotten into you lately?” she asks.

T’Challa looks at her through heavily-lidded eyes.

“I think . . . I’ve just been thinking about you.”

Okoye feels weirdly giddy and silly--like a teenager again. And now that she thinks about it, Okoye used to be a little bit daring when she was a teenager, didn’t she?

“Thinking about me in what way?”

Before Okoye has time to regret that question--before T’Challa has time to do anything but  _ look  _ at her--Okoye’s kimoyo beads light up and beep.

“Oh! Um,” the small sound manages to startle them both, bringing them back to reality. 

Blushing, Okoye answers. 

“Okoye! There you are!”

Of course it’s Shuri.

“Princess!” Okoye’s voice squeaks and hopes the embarrassment isn’t playing across her face. “How can I help you?”

Besides her, T’Challa’s not even trying to hide his wide-eyed expression as he looks at Shuri’s hologram. 

Shuri raises an eyebrow at T’Challa.

“T’Challa? Oh, so this is where you’ve been hiding. The Border Tribe Elder has been looking for you, I heard,” Shuri muses.

T’Challa kind of twitches. “Yes, I am supposed to meet with him today,” he says, voice dry as Okoye’s ever heard it. 

“You sound so thrilled by the prospect,” Shuri responds. She shifts her focus back to Okoye. “Anyway, Okoye, could you come to my lab as soon as you can please?”

“Are you alright?” Okoye asks with a frown, casting a glance at T’Challa. T’Challa sits at attention, peering intently at his sister’s hologram.

“Yeah, I’m fine! I just--need you to come down, okay?” Shuri sounds a little anxious.

“ _ Just  _ me?”

“Yes.”

Okoye and T’Challa look at one another again. Okoye can _ see _ T’Challa thinking of ways to sneak into Shuri’s lab alongside her. 

“It’s a  _ woman  _ thing, Brother,” Shuri says.

T’Challa frowns in confusion and tilts his head. (And Okoye is forced to admit that the way his brow furrows is _cute._ He looks a little like a puppy. ) 

“What do you mean ‘woman--’”

“I’m on my way, Princess,” Okoye interrupts.

Shuri chuckles softly. “Thanks, Okoye.” Then her hologram disappears. 

And, in her absence, everything goes still. Okoye and T’Challa sit next to each other awkwardly, both wondering what in the world is happening here. 

Okoye stands, surprisingly steady. Her entire body--inside  _ and  _ out--feels like jelly. T’Challa, stuck to the ground, looks up at her. She smiles down at him nervously. 

“Duty calls.” 


	7. Lead With Emotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I....am so sorry. I have spent the last month being repeatedly punched in the chest by life.

Shuri’s lab is quiet for once, and the lack of music puts Okoye even further on edge. Okoye swears the anxiety’s going to kill her as she rushes down the unusually empty hall into Shuri’s unusually empty lab. 

“Shuri! Shuri? Are you in here?”

Okoye’s own voice bounces off of the walls. Okoye’s starting to worry again. The neck rings that she’d so carefully put back on her neck start to feel tight again. 

Shuri had said she was fine, but what if that was a lie, or if she had been forced to say that? What if someone broke in and has taken the princess?  

Just as the tension starts to crawl up her neck, Okoye feels someone move behind her. 

“Boo!” 

Okoye whips around, fully prepared to fight--only to see Nakia’s wide, beautiful smile staring back at her.

“Did you miss me?” Nakia says charmingly. 

“Nakia!” Okoye wraps her arms around Nakia, not even embarrassed by how high her voice just squeaked. 

Nakia squeezes Okoye with all of her might. Okoye can feel the love radiating from her friend’s body. 

Okoye pulls back to get a good look at Nakia’s face. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Nakia grin, her skin glowing and her eyes bright. 

“Ndikukhumbule,” Nakia says warmly,  “I was in Kenya for work, and I thought of how much I needed home. So here I am!”

Okoye pulls Nakia back in another hug. She never realized how much she missed her friend. 

Shuri pops up behind them, draping her arms around Nakia and Okoye’s shoulders. 

“That, and she wanted to make sure we hadn’t burned down her country,” Shuri says. She leads Okoye and Nakia over to a table and chairs she cleared for them. “She was a little worried about that when she left.”

“Yes, I was!” Nakia says cheerfully. “Okoye can only stop you and your brother from doing so much damage.” 

“Oh, Bast, you have no idea,” Okoye groans. “The two of them will be the death of me!”

Shuri smirks at Okoye. “Aye,  _ I  _ won’t be. My brother, on the hand, he probably will be if you keep letting him wear you out.” 

“ _ Oh _ ?” Nakia nudges Okoye’s arm and grins slyly, giving her an evaluating stare. “ ‘Wear you out,’ huh? What have I missed?”

“ _ Nothing _ ,” Okoye grits, “Shuri’s just doing her best at making my life as difficult as possible.” 

Shuri shrugs, a mischievous grin on her face. “You’re the one stepping on your own feet. I swear, you and T’Challa are so--”

“ _ Anyway  _ Nakia,” Okoye turns sharply to her friend, “tell me how your work has been.” 

Nakia raises an eyebrow at her friend and bites her lip. Okoye’s afraid that Nakia is going to press forward, but then Nakia sighs good-naturedly. 

“It’s been difficult, but very good,” Nakia says. “I’ve met brilliant young people who are dying to change the world. Especially in the U.S. The kids there are particularly impressive. They’ve managed to be very focused in the midst of a lot of political turmoil in their country--both the president and vice president were recently arrested for treason and election tampering.” 

“Tut,” Okoye says, rolling her eyes. “And the world’s leaders were skeptical of  _ us.  _ I never saw such corruption until we ventured out into the world more.” 

Nakia chuckles. “No, I hadn’t either. But I also hadn’t seen such resilience.”

Shuri grins lazily at the older women. “Ah, yes. The youth are the future,” she says sagely. “Without us, the world will crumble.”

Nakia and Okoye laugh while Shuri flips her hair exaggeratedly. As their laughter dies down, Okoye’s eyes become solemn. Shuri’s joke, as amusing as it is, reminds Okoye of just how delicate their new world is. How uncertain everything around her has become. Okoye thinks of the confusion she felt only an hour prior, and she feels herself start to sink. 

Nakia nudges Okoye’s arm again. 

“Okoyeee,” Nakia calls in a soft sing-song voice, “I can see you drifting away. Where are you going?” 

“I . . . do not know,” Okoye admits. “I suppose I’m going to the same place I’ve been going for a while now. I think of the instability of this world and . . .”

Okoye falls silent, and, for a moment, her friends allow her that moment of fear. Then Nakia speaks up again, her voice cutting through the shroud that is beginning to surround Okoye. 

“And it’s scary,” Nakia finishes, “but we will be okay.  _ You  _ will be okay. That is a fact that I am completely confident in.” 

Okoye smiles softly at Nakia. “Thank you, sister.” 

Another silence falls over the three, this one much more warm and comfortable. Okoye could probably sit like this for much longer.

But then Shuri speaks again.

“You’d definitely be more than okay if you just stopped trying to hide the fact that you and T’Challa are sleeping together.” 

“Ah!” Nakia shouts. “Ndiyazile!” She and Shuri laugh loudly while Okoye stammers and sputters.

“Shuri!” Okoye yells, eventually remembering how to speak before promptly forgetting again. “No, we’re not! Akukho nto yokuyazi!” 

“Oh,  _ Bast! _ ” Shuri groans, rolling her eyes. “Okoye, please. You don’t have to lie about anymore. You didn’t have to lie about it to begin with, actually.” 

“I am  _ not,  _ Shuri. I am not lying because I am  _ not  _ sleeping with T’Challa.” Okoye tries to make her words as heavy as possible, but she knows she’s failing. She’s flustered, and she feels  _ exposed _ . 

Nakia puts both of her hands up in a sign of surrender. 

“Alright, alright. I believe you,” she says, smiling when Okoye looks over at her. 

Okoye watches Nakia for a moment. She realizes that Nakia does  _ not  _ believe her, and probably never will. Okoye considers Nakia again and has another thought.

“Nakia, are you not . . .  _ bothered  _ by the idea? Of T’Challa and I?”

“I mean, if you’re actually admitting that there is a such thing as ‘T’Challa and you’, then no. Because T’Challa and I are done. I’ve moved on, and he clearly has, too,” Nakia says coyly, giggling at the indignant look on Okoye’s face. 

Before Okoye can protest, Nakia continues speaking.

“And also, I distinctly remember being _your_ friend before I was ever even interested in T’Challa. And as your friend, I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy, especially after the last year or so.”

“Besides,” Shuri says, grabbing Okoye’s attention, “I’m confused about what is so bad about the two of you being together. It seems very simple to me, but you both act like it’s blasphemy. It’s getting ridiculous. ”

Okoye sighs, and her entire body seems to sag. Okoye is  _ tired _ , and Nakia and Shuri are right, as they often are.

“It actually used to  _ be _ considered blasphemy,” Okoye answers, giving Shuri a small smile. “Centuries ago, any Dora and ruler who crossed the boundaries set up between them were committing a great offense. They both would’ve been considered unfit to lead.”

“Really?” Shuri frowns and twists her nose. “That’s changed though, right?”

“Yes, but not drastically,” Okoye responds with a frown. 

She has a brief flashback to the night she became a Dora. The ceremony had been so long, just like the training before it. She remembers reciting her vows while getting her head tattooed, a string of words in Xhosa that would change her life. 

“The vows I took are not  _ so  _ strict,” Okoye continues distantly, “but they do call for a level of . . . detachment. Devotion born from the love of the country and what the throne represents, but not of the ruler themselves. I could hate the ruler, but still serve them, because being a Dora is ultimately an act of service for Wakanda.”

“You mean like Killmonger?” Shuri’s tone darkens, and so do her eyes. The energy in the room shifts; it’s a palpable anger. T’Challa may be sensitive to Killmonger’s struggles, but that does not mean the rest of them can ever be.

“Yes,” Okoye her voice as she remembers the pain and rage and  _ hurt  _ she felt that. “Like Killmonger.” 

Okoye thinks of the argument she and Nakia had that night. Tears streaming down her face, her voice trembling. Loyal to the throne, no matter who sat upon it. It would be funny if she still didn’t shiver at the memories. 

“You know, that was the first time my vows conflicted so severely with who I am,” Okoye says thoughtfully. “It torn me apart to serve him.”

“But you  _ didn’t  _ serve him. You  _ fought  _ him.” Nakia says. “At the end of the day, you knew what had to be done and you did it.”

Okoye snorts and rolls her eyes. “That was only because T’Challa was alive. The challenge was not complete.” 

She thinks about the moment T’Challa emerged from that crashed plane. She saw his face, his arms outstretched . . . Okoye had never felt so  _ grateful _ and elated. She would’ve fallen to her knees and praised Bast right then and there. 

But she couldn’t. Because Killmonger had to be dealt with. 

Nakia smirks at her friend. 

“Come on, Okoye, be honest,” Nakia says, nudging Okoye in the side. “Your insurrection against Killmonger was only partly about the challenge. You took him on because  _ you  _ saw what was in his heart.”

“And because you hated him,” Shuri adds.

“ _ Exactly, _ ” Nakia affirms, giving Okoye a pointed look. “You led with your emotions then, not with an idea of your duty. And it was for the best.” 

“ _ So _ ,” Shuri continues, “I don’t see what’s wrong with you leading with your emotions  _ now _ . You don’t even want to kill anybody this time around!” Shuri shrugs, but she gives Okoye a small smile. 

Okoye bites her lip and stares down at the table in front of her.

“You both make this sound so easy,” Okoye murmurs.

“Because it  _ is _ . Or it should be,” Shuri says emphatically. “All you gotta do is stop being afraid of yourself.” 

Okoye looks over at Nakia. Nakia, looking at Okoye with great affection in her eyes, simply nods and smiles.

“You have a duty to  _ yourself _ , you know,” Nakia says warmly.

Okoye thinks of the feeling of T’Challa hovering near her, his hand on hers. His eyes on over her face. She’s in love. this , she is very clear on. Okoye feels foolish, but not because she’s in love, but because she’s been afraid.

A duty to herself. Well, alright then. 


	8. Scaredy Cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse as to why this took me *so damn long* to write. Next chapter's the very last so, byeeee see you then!!
> 
> p.s. I didn't know if the Border Tribe Elder--or any of the Elders for that matter--already had a name, and I couldn't find one alone. So I gave him one. Okay, see y'all later! *crawls back into cave*
> 
> EDIT: Someone told me that the Border Tribe Elder's name is M'kathu, so I went through and changed it.

T’Challa should call them.

No. No. He shouldn’t, because that would mean that he’s hovering over them both. Shuri and Okoye are both more than capable to handle anything. Besides, if they needed T’Challa, they would call him. 

Well, T’Challa  _ hopes  _ they would. If he’s being completely honest, T’Challa knows that they’re both the type to launch head first into battle without waiting for him. As much as T’Challa would like to protect them, they don’t necessarily need it. They don’t necessarily need  _ him.  _

That fact makes T’Challa proud. And afraid. And more than a little sad. 

T’Challa feels the lingering sadness now, even as he’s supposed to be mentally preparing himself for this meeting with the Border Tribe Elder, M'Kathu. He walks slowly through the palace to the throne with, with Ayo and Aneka at his side. T’Challa is supposed to be reminding himself of his talking points for the meeting. 

In all honesty, T’Challa can’t focus on anything but Okoye, and how much his mood sours the moment they are no longer in each other’s presence. 

T’Challa should be concerned about his apparent emotional dependence on Okoye. It plainly spells trouble for him. What if she decides to leave him? What will he do then--just completely shut down emotionally? Be no good for anyone anymore? 

Wait. T’Challa is so foolish. He’s considering her leaving him when he hasn’t even gathered the courage to ask her to  _ be _ with him. 

T’Challa thinks about his parents. They were married for 40 years before T’Chaka was killed. When T’Challa was young, he used to like to hear about how they fell in love. 

“I saw your mother, and knew I never needed to see anyone else,” T’Chaka would say, a dreamy look on his face. 

T’Challa would see them and want a relationship like theirs: two people who knew they were meant for each other from the moment they met. Two people who built a life together--who really built their own world together. T’Chaka carried Ramonda’s heart with him, and Ramonda will always carry T’Chaka’s heart with her. 

T’Challa thought he had found that in Nakia, because he’d loved her even when they were children. But they had different paths, different goals. Different hearts. 

And although their time together was invaluable, T’Challa can’t help but wonder how he didn’t realize that he and Okoye already had the connection he was trying to forge with Nakia. It’s like he and Okoye spent their entire youth looking past one another; they only gained clear vision after their world nearly ended. 

After what feels like an eternity, T’Challa, Ayo and Aneka finally arrive to the conference room. Elder M'Kathu sits there waiting for them. He looks patient, but anxious. 

“My King,” he says with a small smile. 

T’Challa nods at Ayo and Aneka, murmuring a “Thank you” to them both. They both nod at him.

“We’ll be outside if you need us,” Aneka says pleasantly. 

Aneka salutes T’Challa, but Ayo doesn’t. Ayo is too busy giving Elder M'Kathu a hard stare. 

“ _ Ayo _ ,” Aneka mutters through gritted teeth.

Ayo slowly turns her hard gaze from Elder M'Kathu. She looks up at T’Challa and gives him a surprisingly serene smile.

“We’ll be outside, just as my love said,” Ayo states. With that, she and Aneka leave, with Aneka quietly fussing at Ayo on their way out. 

Elder M'Kathu chuckles softly.

“They are not very fond of me,” Elder M'Kathu says with a sheepish smile. 

T’challa tries to placate him, but Elder M'Kathu simply raises a hand at him.

“Do not worry, my King, I take no offense. The Dora and the Border Tribe will have to continue working on our relationship, as we all will,” he says sagely.

T’Challa nods. “You are very right about that, Elder.”

T’Challa takes his seat. The Elder looks surprised to see that T’Challa sits right next to him. 

“Do you want me to move? Am I too close to you?” T’Challa questions. 

“No,” Elder M'Kathu answers. “I am just . . . your father always kept at least two or three seats apart in private meetings. I’d thought it customary, but I suppose it was just one of his quirks.”  

“Well, if this past year has taught me anything, it is that I am not like my father at all,” T’Challa says wryly. 

Elder M'Kathu tilts his head at T’Challa and peers at him curiously. 

“You say that as if it is a bad thing,” Elder M'Kathu says. “You  _ are  _ a different king than your father was, but I personally feel that this is a good thing. Wakanda’s become more open, more communicative.”

“Ah, yes, you are the  _ only _ Elder who readily agreed with our international outreach,” T’Challa says. 

“The River Tribe Elder agreed . . . after some grumbling.”

“The Merchant Tribe Elder thought I was purposely trying to bring about the end of Wakanda as revenge for their following N’Jadaka.” 

T’Challa’s flat tone makes the Elder laugh out loud. 

“She is . . . a very traditional woman, like most of the council,” he says between chuckles. “You’ll have to be more patient with her. We’re all adjusting to this new era of our country. I cannot say that it comes without fear. Our roles have changed than what they were before.”

“And that’s what your concerned about? The Border Tribe’s role?”

Elder M'Kathu nods, and T’Challa sees a flash of anxiety in his eyes. Elder M'Kathu body sags a little. He’s tired, but they’re all tired. 

“For all this time, we have kept up the appearances, and kept away the intruders,” Elder M'Kathu says. “Our tribe places all of our pride on providing that type of strength for Wakanda. But now, there are no appearances to be kept, and the world is welcome here. That type of strength is no longer necessary. And with the strongest warrior so readily following N’Jadaka, and many others readily following him . . . I’m afraid, we do not know who we are anymore.” 

“I . . . understand. We’re all going through a bit of an identity crisis. But I don’t want you to feel that the Border Tribe is no longer necessary. You  _ are _ the first line of defense for Wakanda. We haven’t lost the need to protect ourselves. We haven’t lost our strength.”

“Ah, but I have lost  _ mine _ .” Elder M'Kathu voice darkens, and it trembles.

Guilt rises in T’Challa. 

“I miss W’Kabi, too, Elder,” T’Challa says quietly.

Elder M'Kathu sighs, and his age starts to show on his face. T’Challa realizes that Elder M'Kathu isn’t very old: he’s only in his late 50s, about 20-some-odd years older than T’Challa. But he’s been through so much, and all of his sorrow and stress show up on his body. 

Elder M'Kathu stares out a head of him, and shakes his head.

“I helped  _ raise _ that child,” Elder M'Kathu says. “From the time he was very, very small. His parents and I . . . we had long decided that if anything should happen, W’Kabi would be . . .” Elder M'Kathu closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “But W’Kabi chose exile. And my tribe has been decimated. We are rebuilding, but there’s so much--”

“Uncertainty,” T’Challa finishes, managing to push his voice past the lump forming in his throat.

“Yes, uncertainty,” Elder M'Kathu answers, “both in the tribe and in myself.”

T’Challa’s stomach drops. He realizes what Okoye meant about how desperately he wants to take care of people, to make things right. But even this feeling--a feeling of anxiety and grief on behalf of Elder M'Kathu--is different than what he felt in the field with Okoye. 

“That is natural,” T’Challa says soothingly. “As you said, Elder, this transition is not without fear. And I understand that you would have an even more trepidation. But one thing I am sure of is our ability to work together, especially in this time. We need each other more than over.”

Elder M'Kathu nods, but T’Challa see the apprehension in his eyes. 

“How about, for the time being, you and I keep having these more private meetings? To keep track of the needs of the Border Tribe?” T’Challa asks. 

Elder M'Kathu contemplates it for a moment. Then he smiles.

“I like that idea,” Elder M'Kathu says. “But I do wonder if the Dora will allow you to spend that much time with me. Worse yet, will  _ Okoye _ let you spend that much time with me.” 

T’Challa blushes; he can’t even feel embarrassed by it, either. 

“Oh, come on, Okoye’s not  _ that  _ mad at you,” T’Challa tries, wearing a big grin on his face. 

“Wam kumkani, it’s not about her being  _ mad,  _ it’s about her protecting you. And I already know that is her primary concern,” Elder M'Kathu says. 

“She is a good general,” T’Challa responds, still smiling.

Elder M'Kathu narrows his eyes at T’Challa.

“Ah, yes. Right. A good  _ general. _ ” 

T’Challa bites the inside of his lip, but he ends up barking out a laugh anyway. 

“Ah, Bast, please tell me I’m not this obvious,” T’Challa groans. 

Elder M'Kathu shrugs. “I’ve always thought you two would be good together. If I’m being honest, I never understood how she and W’Kabi ended up together.” 

“And I suppose this is another way you aren’t like the other Elders,” T’Challa says, “because I imagine most of them still believe that Okoye and I would be disrespecting our positions.” 

“Like I said, they are more  _ traditional _ ,” Elder M'Kathu. “I never thought it especially inappropriate for a King to be with a Dora. And I do think you and Okoye would be good together. She seems happier with you. Much happier than I’ve ever seen her, actually.” 

T’Challa hears Elder M'Kathu words, and a warmth spreads throughout his body. But still, there’s an anxious voice in the back of his mind.  _ It won’t work. She won’t want you ro long. Your roles as King is going to get in the way.  _

Elder M'Kathu squints at T’Challa and grins. 

“Don’t be a--what’s Shuri said before? A  _ scaredy cat _ .”

T’Challa’s face falls, and Elder M'Kathu chuckles.

“Elder, do you think it’d be beneficial to banish Shuri from the country?”

Elder M'Kathu rolls his eyes at his king.

“You’d miss her too much, my king.” 

**

The palace halls are weirdly empty. 

Okoye’s used to some bustle about the palace. Worried Elders, guards, Dora, and other members of the Golden Tribe are usually swarming the halls. It’s always been a little overwhelming for Okoye, actually. She doesn’t like crowds or too much noise. It’s too unpredictable. 

Walking with T’Challa always helped; then, she could just focus on him. On his back, on his gait, on the deep rumbles of his voice. His presence always makes it easier. 

She likes that they’re empty now. It’s like everyone realizes that her nerves are already shot and decided to get out of her way. 

Okoye has finally stopped feeling foolish about how she feels. Now she’s moved on to a dizzying mix of excited and anxious. She feels ready for anything, everything and nothing at all. 

**

“Ah, so  _ this  _ is the American tennis player Shuri talks about?” Ayo peers intently at the hologram Aneka’s pulled up on her kimoyo beads.

Aneka nods excitedly as they watch a muscular Black woman in a black catsuit slam her tennis racket into a ball. 

“A warrior woman, like us,” Aneka says, her voice full of awe.

The two are so busy watching this tennis player that they don’t even notice Okoye walking up behind them. 

Okoye bemusedly studies them for a moment. Ayo and Aneka have been together for as long as Okoye can remember. It’s must’ve been fate that led them to one another, because Okoye honestly cannot picture them with anyone else. They’re beautiful together. 

Okoye clears her throat, and the two Dora immediately turn to face her.

“General,” Ayo says cooly, as if she and her girlfriend were not just gazing at an athlete mere moments before. “We did not expect you.”

“I’m here to escort T’Challa,” Okoye says carefully.

Ayo and Aneka nod, but Okoye can see a flash of mischief in Ayo’s eyes. Of course they realize what’s going on. They probably knew before Okoye did.

Before either of them can tease their general, T’Challa and the Border Tribe Elder step out of their conference room. The Elder’s guard, who had stationed himself a few doors down, quickly appears at his side. 

“I will . . . see you soon, my King,” the Border Tribe Elder says.  He nods at Okoye with a smile, and she can see the same mischievous look in his eyes. 

The Border Tribe Elder and his guard make their leave. Okoye turns to Ayo and Aneka, using all of her effort to keep her face neutral. 

“You two are dismissed. Thank you.”

They salute Okoye and T’Challa and make their exit. Okoye already knows they’re going to be giggling about this once they’re out of earshot.

“What are those two up to?” T’Challa asks. His voice makes Okoye’s stomach flutter.

“No good,” she answers breathlessly. She turns around to face again. “What is the Border Tribe Elder up to?”

T’Challa chuckles softly. “No good.” 

They take each other in for a few moments. Okoye feels so warm under T’Challa’s soft gaze. She wants to stay in this feeling for the rest of her life.

“Okoye,” T’Challa murmurs.

“Yes . . .?”

“There is something . . . something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. To ask you, really--”

“T’Challa,” Okoye interrupts, because she’ll lose her nerve otherwise, “I need to say something to you. And it may sound and feel very sudden, but I find that I don’t care about that right now.”

T’Challa smiles at her and nods.

Okoye takes a deep breath, willing her voice to stay steady.

“I want to be with you,” Okoye says confidently, “In a capacity other than as your general and as your Dora. I want to be with you as  _ yours _ , and I want you to be  _ mine _ . And I want this because--because I love you. In every sense of the word. And I think I always--”

In one fluid motion, T’challa wraps his arms around Okoye’s waist and pulls her as closely as he can. He leans his forehead against hers, and gives her a big, boyish grin.

“Can I kiss you, Okoye?”

Okoye, reeling and blushing, grins right back at him.

“Absolutely.”

And they kiss. They kiss and kiss and kiss even when it becomes hard to breathe. Her hands on his shoulders, his around her waist. Okoye gently taking T’Challa bottom lip between her teeth. 

The King and the General, Panther and Dora, man and woman. Making out like giddy teenagers who somehow snuck into the palace after dark. 


	9. Duty Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, sweet and to the point :)

“We are going to be late.”

T’Challa groans, a childish noise that makes Okoye giggle. They’re spooned together, arms and legs all tangled up in each other, snuggled as deeply as they can be in T’Challa’s bed. T’Challa leans his forehead against the back of Okoye’s neck, and huffs.

“I am finding it difficult to care all that much,” T’Challa mumbles. He traces a circle on Okoye’s stomach, just above her navel.  “I’m not sure why you do.”

T’Challa starts to pepper kisses down Okoye’s neck and the top of her back. It’s distracting, and, for a moment, Okoye can’t remember what she was going to say.

“ _T’Challa_ ,” Okoye says, dragging out his name, “I am not going to be the one responsible for making the King late for his meeting.”

“Now, how would that be your fault?” T’Challa asks teasingly. “I am a grown man, and I like to take responsibilities for my own actions.”

Before Okoye can come up with one of her smart remarks, T’Challa turns her around to face him, using only one arm to flip her over. Okoye lets out a high-pitched “woo!” and a girlish giggle. She doesn’t know why she’s so surprised at her king’s strength, but she’s taken back all the time.

He kisses her, deep and hard, and she kisses right back. Okoye feels T’Challa getting hard again, like they hadn’t just finished having sex for the third time this morning.

Not that Okoye minds, of course. They both shift and move until T’Challa is on top of her again. Okoye softly kisses and bites on the side of T’Challa’s neck. He enters her again, and Okoye whines; T’Challa chuckles at the sound.

“Shut up,” Okoye moans out, and it only makes T’Challa laugh again.

“I think I hate you,” Okoye adds breathlessly.

“Oh really?”  Okoye looks up and sees a devious look in T’Challa’s eyes.

He fucks her, going deeper and deeper with every thrust. 

Okoye's toes curl. She wraps her legs around T'Challa's back, like she's trying to lock him in and keep him there, keep him  _inside._ She can feel her vagina tighten around his penis, just all of her muscles start to go rigid. She's about to cum, but she wants to hold onto this for as long as humanly possible.

T'Challa growls in her ear, an animal's sound, and it makes it even harder for Okoye to focus. 

He leans down and takes her earlobe between his teeth. T'Challa realizes what she's doing. 

"Intombi elungile," T'Challa purrs. "Wait for me, baby." 

T’Challa grins, kisses her again. Then he fucks her and fucks and fucks her. And whatever words Okoye has falls to pieces, landing and reforming into _yes, yes, thabatha, thabatha, T’Challa._

T’Challa, breathless and panting, over and over again: _ndiyakuthanda, ndiyakuthanda, Okoye._

Both of them, like this, until Okoye’s blunt nails dig into T’Challa’s slick back. Both of them, like this, until Okoye’s breath hitches. Until T’Challa pulls out, and he and Okoye are spilling all over themselves.

And Okoye lies there, limp and sated and giddy. She's  _tired,_  tiredin a way that only _he_ can make her.

But T'Challa, the damned panther, can get right up, get them warm wash towels--two wet and soapy, two dry--and wipe them both down. He cleans between her legs, leaving kisses on her inner thighs in the towel's wake. Okoye playfully swats at his head, knowing full well that no good can from his mouth being  _that_ close. 

When they're good and clean, T'Challa climbs back in bed, and wraps his arms around her again. 

And time stops. It always does, when Okoye are T’Challa are one like this. Their own, small world. Everything outside of this--out of _them_ \--can fall away.

And it does. For a moment. Until that stupid alarm goes off.

The sound is not _supposed_ to be annoying, but it makes T’Challa groan for an entirely different reason than he’d want to. It’s the “this is the last warning you’re going to get before you’re very late” alarm.

They untangled themselves from one another, and sit upright for once. Okoye laughs at T’Challa’s suddenly grumpy face.

“I _told_ you we’re about to be late,” she says happily.

“Yeah, yeah,” T’Challa say. He smirks at Okoye. “Duty calls, eh?”

They have a day of the most boring meetings in the world ahead of them, all to do with the very minute details of running a country. It’s the equivalent of watching paint dry.

But it’s okay. It’ll always be okay. If Okoye is going to spend her day being bored into her grave, at least she knows T’Challa is right by her side.

Okoye kisses T’Challa on the shoulder, and gives him a small, satisfied smile.

“Duty calls.”


End file.
